Wednesday, February 24, 2016

The Druid Made Me Do It

Freddie, this darling child of mine, the baby, the mama’s boy who doesn’t ever want to sleep without me by his side, will not say “Mama.” Or “Mommy.” Or “Mom.”

He says “Mah!” to indicate when he wants “more” or that something is “mine.” When he wants me to pick him up, he puts his arms out and whines. When he points at me, he says, “Sthat?” which is his version of “what’s that?” He also says “Sthat?” when he wants you to name the animal on the fridge magnet and make the corresponding animal noise (usually monkey).

I’ll admit, this feels like a betrayal. He can say “doggie” and “daddy” and “banana” and “frog” and “moo” and “woof woof” and a whole host of other things. But never “mama.”

It’s been a rough couple of days. I dropped my phone while I was getting it and my keys out of my purse after my workout class last night, a class that takes me away from my family at dinner time two nights per week but without which I feel terrible. I am addicted to the endorphins, I guess, enough so that I willingly give up family time and make Tony manage dinner on his own every Tuesday and Thursday night (I still prepare dinner, mind you, I just don’t eat with them). I haven’t given in to the guilt for that because I’ve viewed it, for the past year that I’ve been taking this class, as totally necessary for my sanity. But then I dropped my phone, my new phone that Tony bought me with his bonus, and broke the screen. I took time off of work this morning to see about getting it fixed – it will cost an arm and a leg and not be ready until Monday.

And then it all came rushing in. And I tell you what, I am good at guilt. I am good at self-flaggelation. This is what I get for not spending the precious dinner hour with my family. I’m the reason I don’t have nice things. A daycare is raising my children. I’m a stressed-out bitch most of the time. I haven’t ironed Tony’s shirts in ages and he’s running low; what kind of a shitty wife am I? How can I punish myself for this boneheaded mistake? Maybe if it hurts enough this time, I won’t do it again.

It never works. 34 years old and still doing dumb, klutzy shit. Makes me feel like I’m not worth the space I take up.

Here’s something to help me feel better: Amazon’s 99 Romance Novels for 99-cents sale. I don’t want to read any of them, I’m just super amused by the titles. Here are my favorite: